


You Can’t Use A Bulldozer To Study Orchids

by infinitevariety (disapparater)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Assumptions, Coming Out, Gender Identity, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Languages and Linguistics, Nonbinary Aziraphale (Good Omens), Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Semiotics, Sexual Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27149269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/infinitevariety
Summary: Aziraphale has a complicated relationship with labels. Crowley is confused and amused by the ridiculousness of it all.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 104
Collections: Our Side Zine: Coming Out 2020





	You Can’t Use A Bulldozer To Study Orchids

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the inaugural issue of Our Size Zine, which you can download for _free_ via tumblr [here](https://oursidezine.tumblr.com/post/631681803402592256) (other social media platforms available).
> 
> Having never really tried putting my own complicated relationship with labels into words, this was hard. But let’s just accept that the author is a complicated mess and roll with it, ‘kay?
> 
> Thanks to W for the beta. Title is taken from the song The Death of Ferdinand de Saussure by The Magnetic Fields ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgTMotHNavU)).

Aziraphale adjusts himself on the high uncomfortable chair and watches Crowley at the bar. He’s supposed to be buying their drinks, but from the way he is draped across the bar, head cocked, and chin in hand, he seems more interested in flirting with the woman pouring their beers. Aziraphale rolls his eyes, but he’s also smiling.

Crowley has such an allure—he knows it, and he takes advantage of it. He exudes charisma, composure, and approachability. When he wants to, at least—Aziraphale has also seen him hunched with hands rammed into the pockets of his trousers exuding hostility, tension, and misanthropy.

Currently, though, Crowley is all charm.

Beers finally in hand, Crowley slinks his way across the room towards Aziraphale. He draws the eye of several women and a couple of men. And, of course, Aziraphale. When he reaches their table Crowley puts down the beers, slips gracefully into the high uncomfortable seat opposite, and grins rakishly at Aziraphale.

“How do you do that?”

Aziraphale hadn’t meant to ask. Hadn’t even formed the question consciously in his mind. It just… slipped out.

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Facial muscles, mostly,” he says, waving a finger at his mouth. “Impure thoughts help too—really adds a salacious edge to any smirk.”

“No, not—” Aziraphale furrows his brow in disapproval. “Not that.”

“What then?”

Crowley takes a sip of his beer and waits patiently. Aziraphale takes a sip of his own beer to buy time.

It’s a deliciously fruity beer and a small moan of delight escapes him. Aziraphale hears Crowley’s glass as it’s put back down on the table and realises he’s closed his eyes. He opens them to find Crowley, chin in hand, smiling at him again.

“How do I do _what_ , angel?”

“Just… you know…” Aziraphale flourishes a hand to indicate Crowley’s entire being. “Everything.”

Now it’s Crowley’s turn to look puzzled. “What?”

Aziraphale sighs. “You’re just so… _you_.”

“Did you… want me to be someone else?”

A frustrated sound makes its way up Aziraphale’s throat. “You’re making this difficult on purpose.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re trying to ask me, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale takes a deep pull on his beer. Then he takes a deep breath. He looks up at Crowley and wrings his hands as he tries to wrangle his thoughts into order.

“You show so much of who you are on the inside, on the outside. The way you move, the way you dress, the way you talk to people… how do you do that?”

Crowley shrugs, arms out and palms up. “I’m just me. Don’t know any other way _to_ be. Where’s this coming from?”

“Am I… am I _me_ enough?” Aziraphale asks as he looks down at his beer.

“Of course you are. What kind of question is that?”

“People can tell so much about you just from looking at you. I don’t think I have the same effect.”

“What do you want people to know about you that they can’t already see?”

“What do _you_ see when you look at me?” Aziraphale expertly deflects with a question of his own. “What would you think of me if you didn’t already know me?”

“I see a kind, fussy, person with old fashioned, but high-quality taste. I see someone who likes to indulge and will make no apologies for that. I see someone who holds strong opinions and will debate and argue to defend them—while enjoying every second of it.”

Aziraphale smiles. “All true.”

Crowley looks smug as he takes a drink of his beer. “Of course,” he says, fiddling with his glass. “It helps that I _do_ already know you.”

Aziraphale concedes the point with a small nod.

“What’s this really about, angel?”

Heaving a sigh, Aziraphale considers his words. “I suppose, there are things I see so clearly in you, that I know aren’t seen so obviously in me. Things I don’t—things I haven’t—told anyone.”

Crowley watches him silently from behind his glass.

“Most humans assume I am a gay man.”

The silence now hangs between them for a few moments.

“And?” prompts Crowley.

“And I’m _not_.”

“So then, what are you?”

Aziraphale hesitates, not sure how to explain, even to Crowley. Before he can figure it out, Crowley is speaking again.

“You said people can tell so much about me just by looking, but… most people won’t look at me and think, ‘ _Ah, yes, there goes that genderfluid, panromantic, asexual demon_ ’. You realise that, right?”

Crowley’s eyes are boring into Aziraphale’s and all Aziraphale can do is look hopelessly back at him.

“ _Most_ people think, ‘ _He’s definitely queer_.’ A thankfully small percentage of people think something similar but much more offensively. And some people, I won’t lie, think about how damn attractive and desirable I am.”

Crowley’s grin is back, and Aziraphale doesn’t even try to hide his laughter.

“I can’t argue with them, my dear.”

“Of course you can’t. Safe in the knowledge you’re the only one I’ll be going home with, you don’t _need_ to argue with anyone.”

They pause to smile and gaze affectionately at each other for a while.

“So,” Crowley says, eventually breaking the silence, “what is it you wish people could tell about you just by looking? If you don’t want that to be ‘gay man’?”

Aziraphale sighs. “Well,” he admits, “I don’t actually think it’s that simple.”

Crowley simply lifts a questioning eyebrow.

“I’m not a man, because I’m not human. But I’ve taken a man’s form and have lived male experiences throughout my time on earth, so I _am_ fine with being viewed as a man. But I don’t _feel_ male. I’m not gay, because I… well, because I’m not a man, but also because even if I was, I am not exclusively attracted to men.”

“Okay, we’ve covered why you’re not a gay man.” Crowley speaks with some care, and Aziraphale adores him for it. “So what _are_ you, Aziraphale?”

“I’m… just Aziraphale, really.”

Crowley’s eyes, peering at him over the top of his sunglasses, are soft.

“You’re not _just_ anything, angel.”

“I _just_ don’t like labels, I think. I want people to _know_ so I don’t have to use words and… and… pigeonhole myself. Have people assume they understand more about me than they do because of a single word or two. I’m more than a gender or a sexuality. I—”

“You’re a kind, fussy, old fashioned, hedonist book hoarder with strong opinions. I _know_ you’re more than a gender or a sexuality.”

“ _You_ know that, but they—” Aziraphale gestures to the other people at the bar, to humans in general, to everyone that isn’t the two of them. “—they don’t.”

“They would if they got to know you,” Crowley points out.

Aziraphale pulls a face. “I don’t want them to get to know me.”

Crowley grins and shakes his head before sitting back in his chair and folding his arms.

“You’re saying you don’t want to get friendly enough with the random humans in this bar for them to get to know you and who you are, however you want them to look at you and be able to determine your gender and sexual identity, but without using actual words to define them?”

Aziraphale physically deflates.

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

“Oh, it is ridiculous. It’s also perfect.”

Aziraphale shoots Crowley a disapproving glare before picking up his almost-empty glass to hide behind.

“ _You’re_ perfect, angel.” Crowley reaches over and pulls gently on Aziraphale’s wrist until he lowers it and puts his glass back on the table. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks about you, who they think you are, or how they might pigeonhole you. If you don’t want labels, you don’t use labels. ‘ _Aziraphale_ ’ is enough, angel.”

Aziraphale smiles. He lets go of his glass and turns his hand to interlock his fingers with Crowley’s.

“I think I’ll accept the label ‘ _angel_ ’, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://infinitevariety.tumblr.com/)!


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